Betrayed By Silver
by ClaireBear1982
Summary: "I'm sorry, Peter. The time has come to say goodbye."


A/N: QLFC. Captain of the Wimbourne Wasps. Prompt: Write about Peter Pettigrew's Silver hand.

It was the night of Lord Voldemort's resurrection, and the plan had gone off without a hitch—well, almost. The Potter boy wasn't supposed to have lived. He wasn't supposed to go running back to Dumbledore to alert him that his Master had risen, but it was done now. Once Peter returned from the graveyard later that night, and all was quiet, he sat and marvelled at the new silver hand that his Master had given him as a reward for his sacrifices. He looked at it this way and that, admiring it from every angle possible. He couldn't believe how bright it was. In the dim light of the lamp, it looked almost fluid. Beautiful. Flexible. An amazing feat of magic.

Peter was just starting to settle for the night when he felt it, or rather, heard it; there was a strange voice in the back of his mind.

 _"Hello, Peter."_

He cried out. "Who's that? Who's there?"

 _"It is I, Peter, your new hand,"_ the voice said. The words had an echo to them, as if they came from deep inside a cave.

"B -but that's impossible," squeaked Peter.

 _"Nothing is impossible, Peter..."_ the voice echoed silkily.

For a moment, fear gripped Peter's heart. He had to have been dreaming! There was absolutely no way that this hand he had been gifted could be a sentient being, could it? Peter pinched himself with his normal hand.

"I must be delirious from performing that ritual," Peter muttered out loud.

A cold laugh bubbled up in the back of Peter's mind. _"Oh, Peter, Peter, Peter, what a fool you are!"_

Peter's heart began to race. How could this be? Blinded by fear, Peter stumbled to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. He drew it back and aimed straight and true at the silver hand attached to his arm. As the blade made contact, it snapped in two.

The cold, high-pitched laugh rung again, and hearing it caused Peter to whimper.

 _"Do you honestly think that's going to work, Peter?"_ taunted the hand, amusement evident as it echoed around inside his skull.

"What do you want?" sobbed Peter.

 _"For you and I to be one, Peter. I am a part of you now."_

"This isn't happening! It can't be happening! I've got to have banged my head and passed out cold!" yelled Peter as he gripped the wrist his silver hand sat upon. He collapsed to the floor and just sat and stared at the thing attached to his arm. It no longer seemed beautiful, but monstrous and unnatural.

 _"Peter, I just want to be your friend,"_ sighed the hand.

"Friend?" Peter whispered.

 _"Yes, Peter, to be your friend, for you to_ trust _me,"_ whispered the hand like a would-be lover.

"I'm not dreaming?" asked Peter.

 _"No, Peter, you're not dreaming."_

"I still don't understa-" but Peter was cut off.

"Wormtail, come, it is time we moved on," came Lord Voldemort's voice.

"C-coming, Master," called Peter shakily.

 _"Peter, you can tell no one of my existence, do you understand?"_

"Yes," whispered Peter before scrambling to his feet to follow his Master.

**

Peter and Lord Voldemort had moved on to Malfoy Manor by the time the Ministry realised that indeed, Voldemort was very much alive and breathing. Once the war started, Peter found himself in charge of making sure the prisoners stayed quiet. When Peter's Master sent him scuttling off to the dungeons to quiet the prisoners, Peter found that his silver hand had an urge to want to throttle the ones held captive.

"What are you doing? The Master wants them alive!" exclaimed Peter on one such occasion.

 _"Kill them, kill them all,"_ hissed the hand back.

"NO!" Peter screamed inside his head.

 _"You dare defy me, Peter?"_ the hand whispered harshly.

"I dare! The Master wants them alive, and it shall stay that way!" snapped Peter as he grabbed his wrist and bashed the silver thing against the wall in frustration.

A cold, high laugh pierced Peter's brain. _"I am your Master; I am always here, always able to hurt you if do not obey me. I can take over your actions if you do not cooperate."_

Peter let the hand drop from his grasp, a pit of fear welling up inside of him.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were brought to Malfoy Manor by a group of Snatchers. Peter looked on incredulously. He couldn't believe the boy and his friends had finally been caught. They had eluded capture for so long that he'd begun to think it would never happen. Peter's hand seemed to twitch in excitement as he watched the scene unfold before him. As Peter was asked to take the boys down to the dungeons, his silver hand started trying to take on a life of its own. It took everything Peter had to keep the damn thing under control; even giving his all, it wasn't easy. The hand fought back; its control seemed to seep into the rest of his arm, moving into his shoulder. For a moment, Peter was afraid that it would be able to control all of him, but then anger and fear bubbled up within him, lending him strength. His body was his own. The hand was his. He was the master of it, for Merlin's sake!

Panting, Peter stared at the hand which clenched and unclenched at his command. He felt as if he'd won an important battle. It would _never_ get the upper hand again.

**

When Peter was sent back down to get the goblin—Griphook— it took all of Peter's willpower not to let his silver hand take control and kill the prisoners. Apparently, the war had not been won, not the way he had thought. He still had an enemy attached to his person. Beautiful, fluid, deadly silver with a will of its own. A constant battle raged inside Peter's skull.

**

When Peter was sent down to the dungeons for the third time, the hand finally got its way. It got to kill.

 _"I'm sorry, Peter. The time has come to say goodbye."_

Peter could only watch in absolute horror as the hand, a thing of pure evil, turned on him and marked a path toward his own throat.

"No, please, please, no. Please, don't kill me!" begged Peter silently.

 _"You owe the boy a life debt. I am sorry, Peter."_

Slowly, the silver fingers closed over Peter's throat, squeezing and asphyxiating him until his eyes rolled up inside his head, and he collapsed in a heap, dead at the door of the dungeon.


End file.
